


Voicemail

by vvombat



Category: BoJack Horseman
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drowning, Implied/Referenced Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvombat/pseuds/vvombat
Summary: Dealing with Bojack in the morning is hard at the best of times, but Diane belatedly answers his phone call.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> Season six spoilers, for episodes 15/16 specifically.
> 
> Content tags aren't overly explict, but tread carefully if you're sensitive to any of the topics.

_I'm going swimming. Since nothing matters anyway, and nobody cares about me -_

The day didn't begin with one new voicemail, but it feels like it starts with one, pulling her out of the still lifting fog of sleep. It's not too early, but Diane's morning routine is still very much a _morning_ one. Still, it doesn't really matter what time it is because Bojack in her ear is a lot to deal with no matter what time of day it is. He's not talking as much as speaking his thoughts out loud in a muddled euphoria, an uncertain happiness that sounds as though he's forgotten what the emotion genuinely sounds like. His mind and his mouth aren't fully aligned, the connection between words and thoughts slipping into the vortex of intoxication as he wanders in and out of lucidity. 

_\- I might as well go swimming, right?_

A feeling of not quite irritation scratches under the surface for Diane, because this is all familiar, this part of him that he's always said isn't him. It's not his fault. It's fame, it's his parents, it's the drink or the drugs but slipping up like this is never who he really is. He's more than all of that, more than his addictions, he's insisted to unpersuaded disbelievers and to those foolish enough to trust that this time it'll be different. It's been so hard for Diane to work out where she falls on that scale of trust and belief, but she keeps listening to the rambling voice, stuck somewhere between a near instinctive obligation to handle this long-standing presence in her life and another softer feeling she can't quite put a word on. 

Is it concern for him? He's no longer so intimately woven through her life, but hearing his voice that causes such uncertain emotions make Diane feel like he's here again, but Bojack's not here, that's the point. He's a living memory that encourages her feelings to turn into anticipation, cautious and wary, expecting the worst from a man who's thrown aside his promise of sobreity, the horse falling off the horse with such upsetting predictability that it's hard for her to even feel anger about it.

The glibness in his voice feels pleading, reminds her of the time he asked, demanded that she tell him he was good. It had been an impossible question, one asked with quiet desperation painted across his face as he'd clutched at the reassurance that he wasn't the problem, that it would get better _despite_ him. She couldn't give him that answer he wanted, because there's no _good Bojack_ , he just is the sum of all his actions in the same way Diane's the sum of hers: formed as a girl out of a childhood of hurt, growing older through the isolation illusion of happiness and slowly eroding away inside when she'd thought how she should be content but wasn't, and now Diane is a person that she thinks is mostly okay, better with the pills when she doesn't feel like she's worse for them. 

Bojack's also made moves forward, one step at a time to build upon the destruction he's left behind, but when Diane had watched him on the TV in the diner it seemed his path had taken him down that well-trodden spiral of his. She feels okay about knowing that, for a while. She's not _happy_ about it, seeing people turn on him and knows that this means that the precariously put together pieces can him fall apart, but his burden isn't hers to carry. The relief she's ever felt for thinking that turns into something wicked and dark inside her as his words continue. 

_Call me back, if you don't want me to go swimming._ There's this subtle shift as one singular word is spoken with purpose. _Otherwise..._

The implications of his inebriated ramblings take on their own sharp clarity to match Bojack's own sudden focus. His home's so private that it borders on isolating, and she knows how lonely it can be at the poolside decking that looks over the city, where the people who _could_ help don't even look like ants from so far away. Bojack grips her once again, and his snorting intake of breath turns his plea into a damning accusation. 

_I'm just gonna assume you don't care._

One new voicemail. Diane hadn't looked when he'd called her, but as her stomach knots and becomes heavy with an invisible weight, she knows it doesn't matter because time nor distance are hers to alter. Even if the call's from seconds ago, Bojack is too far, and she's too late, and her breaths come too thick, too heavy, a feeling that she hasn't felt in weeks. He's shared his final thoughts with her, but Diane can't imagine what actually went through his head, what instinct led him to turn to her as ask her another unanswerable question.

His words pulse through her like caustic venom as Diane realises she's thought of them as his _final_ thoughts, the revelation seeking to nestle in her core. Reactions happen around her, but they aren't connected to her, because all she is are those tightening breaths. There's a foolish surge of hope that maybe he changed his mind, a hope that she doesn't dare let herself think, as the happiness she's felt herself build for herself threatens to crack once again as the growing sensation of guilt - no, fault - grows inside her as an unstoppable pressure.

Guy appears - _when_ does he appear, is it in seconds or hours? - and she knows he speaks but the words don't sink in. His hands are on her shoulders, reassuring, until that are replaced with the too real thought of feeling of Bojack's wet fur masking his clammy skin, the air tinged with chlorine and his touch devoid of warmth. The bile bubbles through her throat, as Bojack's voice takes weight in her head and drags her under the water with him.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about how awful Bojack's "last" words to Diane were, so here's an interpretation of that. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
